


A Slow Epiphany

by fotoshop_cutout



Series: Desperate to Connect [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-17
Updated: 2012-06-17
Packaged: 2017-11-07 22:32:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/436170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fotoshop_cutout/pseuds/fotoshop_cutout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misunderstandings lead to a sort of dysfunctional relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Slow Epiphany

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based on this prompt from LJ's teenwolfkink: Derek/Stiles, spanking; Derek realizes that he can't discipline Stiles in the same way as the rest of the pack. So he comes up with an alternative.
> 
> This started out as just the prompt, but it morphed.

At first Derek just tries to ignore Stiles when he starts acting up, because he can't exactly pick him up with his claws and toss him down, hard, onto the ground and growl in his face without lasting damage. Scott, Jackson, Isaac, Erica, hell even Boyd doesn't test him once he's gotten that far (although they tend to not push him that far anymore). The thing is that Derek has yet to make Stiles understand the subtle shifts in his demeanor to mean that he should shut up or stop acting stupid before he goes too far—but he blames that on not being able to tell the boy _when_ he's gotten that far. Frustrated, he ended up getting a puppy training book (and he was _sure_ that Stiles would get a kick out of that), discarding it after realizing that using a squirt bottle and spraying Stiles was unlikely to get him the response he was looking for. So that's how he landed on the child-rearing book.

He read and then, using Stiles' computer, he read plenty of articles about the pros and cons of different punishments and finally settled—if it happened to be the one his Dad would dish out to the pups in the pack when they were acting out, who was to know?—on spanking. (He also got some articles about spanking in a Dominant/Submissive relationship that he didn't realize was referring to BDSM until after he'd re-read it a couple of times.)

So the next time there was training, he kept an eye on the boy. Nothing happened. Nor did anything happen for the next two pack meetings. Oddly enough, it was when Derek went to ask Stiles about a book he'd borrowed on migration patterns and long term memory through generations of wolves that Stiles decided to mouth off.

“This is the third time I've asked for it, Stiles, now give me the damn book.” His voice may have been slightly growly, but it was entirely human.

“Nuh-uh. The first time didn't even really count because you just asked if I had it. Technically, you've only asked twice.”

Derek glowered at him.

“What? It's true. Plus, this time you didn't really ask either, you just crawled in my window and demanded it back. Which—hello?—if I scream, you're getting arrested for B&E.”

“Stiles...” This time his eyes flashed and he took a step forward, the glowering continued and his lips pulling back to snarl.

“You should really get better at being nice; you know it won't kill you. You may even get what you want. So we're going to try it like this: you're going to ask nicely and I will give you an answer.”

Not that Derek wanted to encourage such behavior as _challenging him_ , but if he just played along, maybe this could be resolved more quickly. He really did have other places to be. His voice was a thick growl when he hunched his shoulders and asked, “Can I please have the book now?”

Stiles crossed his arms, snorting in a completely unattractive way, mouth falling open as he raked his eyes up and down Derek. It raised a warning growl to Derek's lips, but Stiles cut it off with a curt, “No.”

And then he spun his chair around to turn his back on Derek and go back to typing on his computer. Derek had enough. He stalked across the room, bunched up the back of Stiles' shirt in his hand and hauled him up out of the chair (which was difficult because the boy was almost as big as he was and all gangly, arms swinging and snagging at the chair like that would help him get away from Derek). Stiles yelped and was raised up onto his tip toes when he tried to fight against the manhandling that Derek was doing to him.

“Derek—ack!—what are you doing?” Even with all the gangly limbs, Derek managed to drag him over to the bed, sit down and bend him over his lap. It was at that point that Stiles grew really still. For a moment, Derek thought he had him. He raised a hand and then Stiles tried (and almost succeeded) in getting away. His hand came down and Stiles yelped, getting red in the face. “Ow! Derek, stop, ok?”

Derek didn't listen, he sat grim-faced and swatting at Stiles' butt. Stiles babbled and bribed and pleaded and finally just stopped altogether, all the fight going out of him. Derek opened his mouth to tell him to get the book when the salt from tears hit his tongue. He balked and righted Stiles immediately, eyes wide as he tried to figure out where he'd gone wrong. No, the articles said that kids tend to cry, but Stiles wasn't _really_ a kid, was he? Derek pressed gentle touches to Stiles' face as the boy gulped for air and trembled on his lap. Or, mostly on his lap; Stiles was really too big to fit.

Derek held him close, pressing their chests together and positioning Stiles so his chin rested on Derek's shoulder. He whispered soothing things, rocking them gently. It didn't take long for Stiles to calm down, just sitting there all loose-limbed and sniffling occasionally. Derek leaned back to look him in the eye and frowned, swiping away the tear trails with his thumb.

“I'm sorry. You just weren't listening and you make me so frustrated.”

*

So the first experience had been terrible. Derek vowed to be more careful next time, if there was a next time. Maybe he had inadvertently used his superior strength and that's why he had broken him. For about a week afterward (in which they didn't talk about the incident) Stiles was quieter when around Derek and refused to meet his eyes. Derek thought maybe he'd learned his lesson, though he didn't necessarily _like_ this quiet Stiles.

Stiles then became louder than ever and more ridiculous about challenging Derek, even in front of the pack. At first Derek tried the ignoring thing again, but clearly that wasn't working, so he growled and flashed his wolf eyes at the boy. It only made Stiles sass back. So Derek dismissed the pack with a wave, grabbed Stiles by the belt loops and threw him up over his shoulder in a fireman's hold. Much squirming, cursing and ignoring of such things later, Derek had him inside and sat down, spilling him over his lap while he did so.

“I hate that we have to do this again, Stiles. I thought we had gotten past this.”

Stiles had gone still again, and if Derek had bothered to notice it was different this time. Derek didn't notice. He raised his hand and brought it down, slightly more gently than he had the last time they had been in this situation. Stiles was holding his breath, letting it out and fidgeting when Derek lifted his hand again. He looked over his shoulder, craning around to try to see Derek. “That all you got?”

Derek scowled and brought his hand down a little harder, about the same strength as he had the first time he had spanked Stiles. Instead of a hiss or maybe a gasp, like he was expecting, Stiles just groaned and ground down on his lap. That was when he knew that this time was different. He jumped up as if he were a girl who'd seen a mouse and sent Stiles onto the floor, face first.

“What the fuck!” Stiles scrambled to get back up, Derek avoided him like he'd spilled his drink on the floor, a kind of disgusted look frozen on his face. “What the hell did you do that for?!”

Stiles was straightening out his clothes, a blush rising in his cheeks already. Derek now just looked disgruntled and maybe shocked, staring at Stiles like he was trying to get a measure on him. “I—”

He aborted trying to say anything when nothing came to mind. What exactly does one say in this situation? His eyebrows knit together and he looked confused—he _felt_ confused. Stiles reached under his sweatshirt and pulled his t-shirt down, then his sweatshirt down over it, looking like he felt self-conscious. “You what? You just dumped me on the floor!”

He stared dumbly as the boy continued, “I mean, come on, don't treat me like a kid. I _saw_ what you left in my internet history.”

Derek opened his mouth to say something, but Stiles kept plowing onward like a bad train wreck, “I have to admit, it was kind of weird at first, and I didn't really think it through the first time—it _hurt_ damnit—but I can handle it. I can adapt. Just—please don't give up on this, please? I'll do whatever you want, I don't care that you're kinky, really.”

Derek had to stop this. He had to stop it. How? He stepped forward and clapped his hand over Stiles' mouth. He still didn't know what to say, though, so he settled for giving Stiles a 'what the fuck' look while he tried to figure out where he went wrong.

And then he remembered those BDSM articles. He was so stupid. He hung his head as it dawned on him, but he kept Stiles in place, who was just sagging in his grasp now, like an obedient puppy, eyes trained on his every move. He took a couple of breaths before he spoke, his voice coming out a little ragged.

“I—you weren't supposed to see that.” He flicked his eyes up from where he'd been staring at the floor in thought to meet Stiles' eyes. Stiles took a moment and then glanced down. Slowly, Derek backed away a couple of steps, letting his hands fall away from Stiles' face.

“Obviously. But I did. I thought...” Stiles looked dejected, shoulders sagged and all listless, looking down at his feet. Derek shifted uncomfortably: he didn't like where this was going. Stiles was going to feel rejected and that hadn't been Derek intention—none of this had been. His voice came out harder than he wanted it to.

“You thought wrong.” As soon as he said it he wanted to take it back. Why did he always react this way? Kate had ruined him for socializing. Stiles' head snapped up and he looked straight into Derek's eyes, studying him. Derek tried not to waver—he'd already committed himself to being a dick about this, might as well go all the way—but his subconscious guilt had him bow his head. When he looked back up a split second later, regretting the simple action, Stiles was looking at him, puzzled.

They were silent for a little while, the cold from the impending evening biting through their clothes in the run-down house. Stiles looked back down at his feet, picked a loose thread off his sweatshirt and dropped it to the floor, shuffled around. Derek shoved his hands in his pockets, watching Stiles, but trying not to at the same time. He shifted again, uncomfortable with the way things weren't settling. Usually Stiles would say something about now, but he wasn't. Finally, Stiles started moving toward the door.

Alarmed, Derek moved between him and the door, the wolf in him not wanting to let his pack mate leave while there was still an issue. He cleared his throat and tried to find something to say. “So you did this all on purpose? Even the first time?”

That didn't sound at all like 'Don't leave while this isn't settled'. He frowned at himself. Stiles was back to looking at him, though, so that was a start. Stiles nodded, “Yeah, I mean, I caught on when you left the window open after you'd been in my room.”

His eyes were wide, trying to take in everything and not missing a damn thing. Derek didn't know what to do. “So you...?”

Stiles shrugged, dropping his gaze and letting Derek look away, out the broken window, looking back at Derek when he was focused elsewhere. “I thought... it seemed like...” He licked his lips, “I thought you wanted me to know. I thought... you wanted _me_.”

Derek didn't know what to do with that.

*

So it stayed awkward for days to come, advancing into weeks and before he knew it, a month had gone by. Stiles was careful about how he acted toward Derek, but with the rest of the pack he was normal. It made Derek whine and worry internally about what had happened, though. How what he had done had been mistaken for... _that_. He'd never meant for it to happen. As it was wont to do, what Stiles had said nagged at him. It picked at him at his most vulnerable moments—like right before he fell asleep and subsequently kept him awake for hours longer—and made him consider everything in a different light.

When the dreams started he knew he needed to get it out of his head. After all, when he was awake he didn't have such thoughts. He'd never even thought of that being an option, and it wasn't one, really. So he started making himself busy— _away_ from Stiles. He started looking for things to do: he needed to figure out his life. While the hunters were a threat, if he had an actual place to live (legally) any time they went near his property he could call in the cops to prevent any foul play. Then he would need a job.

A couple of weeks later he found a place right near the mall, found a job as a mechanic in a place not far off and was basically distracted from it. And then as soon as he thought he was rid of it, it snuck up on him again. He was waking up the alarm and had the stray thought of 'wouldn't it be nice to wake up to someone... I wonder what Stiles is doing'.

Needless to say, he wasn't pleased with his brain.

It was Jackson showing up on his doorstep that kept the ball rolling, though. Jackson normally didn't really associate with him (or any of the pack) outside of the pack meetings and training, so him being there, ringing Derek's doorbell, was out of place. Derek swung the door open and went back to what he was doing (he really didn't want to burn his french toast), letting Jackson find his own way in. Jackson sat at his table, elbows on it and head between his hands before he said anything.

“Stiles is pining over you and you're pining over him. We all get it, so will you stop trying to seduce him with your shiny new kitchen wares and just do something about it already?” Jackson was always blunt. Derek turned to him, armed with a spatula and quirked eyebrow. It did nothing as Jackson just shook his head and scraped his fingers through his hair. He pushed back from the table and got up, careful not to meet Derek's eyes as he started toward the door. “You know what? Forget it. I'll let you get back to your pining now.”

Jackson did—well, he left at any rate—and it had Derek in quite the kerfuffle, trying to figure out how _exactly_ he was pining after Stiles.

Oh shit. He _was_ , wasn't he?

*

The next time he saw Stiles was a pack meeting (which had been held at his new place since he'd gotten it) and he couldn't exactly say anything while Lydia was going on and on about how there was this awesome new Bohemian shop that Erica was sure to love, if only she would give it a chance and Jackson talking about Lacrosse formations and defensive tactics with Scott, Isaac and Stiles half listening in. Derek just let them talk and talk and talk for a couple of hours, before Stiles finally came to sit with him in the living room, where he had gotten a bowl of popcorn and started watching the old Three Stooges. He'd heard it go quiet a bit earlier—his eyes flicked to the clock—okay, twenty minutes earlier, but he'd thought nothing of it.

“They left to get dinner.” Stiles answered, watching him as he popped a couple more kernels in his mouth.

“You're not hungry?” Derek spared him a glance, realizing how much he needed a drink now. Stiles was focused on the TV, he shrugged.

“Not really.”

That—that didn't sound like Stiles. Stiles was always hungry. He always ate an extraordinary amount too. Derek looked over, chewing thoughtfully as he took him in. He did look a little skinnier. How had he not noticed that?

“Can I _help_ you?” Stiles didn't even have to turn to look him in the eye and that's when Derek realized he had been sniffing very closely at Stiles' neck. He pulled back slowly, like any fast moves would spook them both and they'd never speak again. He sat back and returned to looking at the Three Stooges while not paying any attention to it and eating popcorn that he wasn't really tasting.

“You should eat more, you've lost weight.”

“Lacrosse.” Stiles' answer came quickly. Derek looked over.

“What.”

Stiles grumbled and refused to look at him again, “You still haven't learned to ask questions properly.”

Derek stared at Stiles, considering his options with a statement like that. The pack wasn't there, Stiles was, he was...

He had one hand cupping the base of Stiles' skull, the other on his face and Derek's lips were parted slightly, against Stiles'. Stiles was still sitting where he had been, Derek had a knee between his legs, though, leaning forward on it while the other was stretched straight to keep him anchored to the ground. Stiles' arms came up...

And pushed him back roughly. He stepped back, startled by the negative reaction. Jackson had been wrong. He'd just stepped into the popcorn bowl too. So that's where it had gone. He scowled at Stiles, then down at his foot, back at Stiles who looked more scared at what he had done than angry. Derek was confused.

“I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean...” Stiles stuttered while Derek extricated himself from the popcorn and bowl. He had butter on his foot. Stiles looked between the foot that Derek had held in the air and his eyes. Derek was thinking about how to go about hopping over to the sink without looking ridiculous and not at all like the alpha he was when Stiles slipped off the couch onto the floor and put his hands around Derek's ankle, tongue snaking out. It was warm and alien and not all that good feeling. Derek cringed, trying to carefully take his foot away from Stiles.

“Do you not want me to?” Stiles looked up at him and he looked so precious, so fragile, that Derek couldn't bear to say 'no'. He couldn't say yes either, though, so he just cringed at him. Stiles stayed where he was. It seemed like they were right back to the same place as before, only this time Derek felt very differently. So, balanced on one foot, he bent and pulled Stiles upright, one hand grasping the front of the ever-present sweatshirt, and pulled him into a kiss. This time Stiles reciprocated, hands buried in Derek's hair.


End file.
